It started innocently enough, the four of us were paying the cost from the night before, and we needed some grub. Naturally the process started via limiting our options. My request was that we go somewhere that served nachos. Though he personally “doesn’t care for them”, Justin has on many occasions described me as a nacho snob.I don’t know why, but we decided Taco Loco would be the spot. However, as pulling up and seeing the broken dilapidated building we quickly began to second guess our initial choice. Brad (or maybe it was Justin?) suggested that we go to Mexican Village because they remembered it being good. So we drove a mile up the road to the next spot. Rather oddly, the building was almost a perfect square, and we struggled to find the entrance. After that, everything went wrong.
We were seated and then diligently ignored for a few minutes. After which we placed our drink orders (they served Pepsi, in case you were curious). When the woman returned with our drinks she proceeded to dump all of the water and pop onto my lap, and then adding insult to an injury, she laughed at me. She returned and gave me paper towels, leaving me to clean up the majority of the mess by myself. The ice stayed on the ground for the remainder of our meal, which as I will explain later, lasted almost an eternity.
The parade of horribles didn’t end there. We attempted to order food, to which the women who had just ruined my pants responded “Oh I’m not your waitress.” Of course, why would we ever assume the person who served our drinks was the waitress. Then, the real waitress came and we were ultimately able to order our food.
While we waited Justin become very distraught by an attractive woman who was sitting by a man with a very questionable haircut. This dominated all of our premeal discussion, which is to say we talked about it for roughly a half hour.
When the food finally came we were hoping for some salvation. We were not so lucky. The food looked and tasted like hot garbage, at best. Justin said the beef in his meal “tasted like dog food.”
When the bill came we decided as a group that there would be minimum tipping. The institution of tipping exists to insure proper service. There is nothing proper about spilling a tray of drinks on your patron and then becoming indignant when he places his order. In the end I asked the waitress if I could have some sort of discount after this nightmare of a dining experience. She responded “Well I wasn’t the one that spilled the drinks on you.” There was no talking to these people. It wasn’t a prosecution, I didn’t care who poured the drinks on me. I just wanted a show of good faith after they shamelessly ruined my afternoon.
We left, and Justin called the manager to complain. He asked if we would like a gift certificate, to which Justin responded “No, we are never coming there again.”
So fast forward to tonight. We were still angry about this God awful dining tragedy. To salvage our day and vindicate the meal we had eaten earlier we needed a sure thing. So we went to Wendy’s. I’ll be the first to admit, I’m new to the Church of Wendy’s. I will say, now I’m a believer. Their Super Value Menu offers enough to satisfy just about all tastes. The dollar chicken sandwich or doublestack were both infinitely better than the nachos I had earlier, and these were one tenth the cost. Just brilliant. Though Mark and Justin won’t be happy that I’m saying this (since they are devout Wendy’s loyalists) the fries left something to be desired.
Reflecting on our day, and state of things, Justin left us with some parting words.
“You know, with these economic conditions, Wendy’s is really the only place you can trust. Where else is there to eat really? People need to learn to accept Wendy’s.”
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